Parfait
by Zayrastriel
Summary: AU from Never Been Kissed: Kurt's bored, terrified, and...well, terrified; bored with school and terrified of Karofsky.  Enter Blaine Anderson, the new gay, hot, and seemingly bipolar French exchange student that Kurt can't quite figure out.


**AN: **Hi! So this is an idea I was vaguely toying with after reading a fair amount of 'Kurt is a French exchange student' stories. Just because the idea of Blaine being French is kind of awesome. And the name 'Blaine' sounds cool in French.

I'd just like to disclaimer this; this is my first serious attempt at writing a long romance-ish fic. My other long fic, **Exaltation of the Morning Rose**, is more like a a political fantasy thriller with romance on the side. And honestly, I don't know how good this will go...

So basically, I'd appreciate any feedback/please tell me where this is worth giving a shot! Enjoy (=

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Karofsky's hands; Kurt could tell them apart from any other of the jocks, despite the fact that they were all equally as strong (and overweight and balding, but Kurt always tried to keep that to himself).

But for some reason, he always knew, even without looking, when it was Karofsky's hands pushing him into the lockers or down to the ground; something about them lingering on his skin just a second longer than the rest of his homophobic lackeys would dare to touch the _fag_.

Kurt stood slowly as Tina grabbed his bag from the floor and, wincing as his hands (already grazed from yesterday's locker shove) screamed in protest.

"Kurt?"

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, biting his lip.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Kurt muttered. "Can you mind my bag, Tina?" Without waiting for a response, he walked away, ignoring the sound of Mercedes calling his name behind him.

* * *

><p>"Blaine! <em>Tu vas où<em>?"

Blaine didn't bother turning to face his father, merely pausing briefly.

"Just going to the toilet, _Dad_," he replied loudly, careful to put on as obnoxiously thick an American accent as possible, before walking out of the principal's office and around the corner

"_Blaine_!" Blaine's father called out, and Blaine was suddenly quite glad they were in a public place; though he braced himself for the sound of footsteps and a blow to the back of his head, nothing happened.

"Excuse me," he said softly, reverting back to a rather more comfortable accent, as he reached out to lightly touch the arm of a pretty blonde girl with large green-hazel eyes, dressed in what Blaine had already identified as the _cheerleading _(was that the word?) uniform of this school.

_Such a strange concept, this _cheerleading_._

"Would you be able to tell me where I can find the _toilette pour les_…ah…boys?" He made sure to let his eyelids droop slightly towards the end, peering at her from under his long (too long, he thought, but then what worked worked) lashes.

"Um, sure," the girl replied, obviously confused but fascinated by his accent , in a light, delicate tone that reminded Blaine of a flute, the solid silver one he'd owned when he was younger before he'd grown up and learned that the flute wasn't _manly_.

_Ah, mon cher Papa_, he thought, staring down to hide his humourless smile as the girl led him down the corridor.

"Here we are," she said, stopping before a door and fluttering her eyelashes slightly at him. "So you're the new exchange student, aren't you?"

"_Oui_," Blaine acknowledged, bowing his head slightly. "My name, it is Blaine. _Et toi_…?"

"Quinn," was the reply, said with a blush that Blaine would have found attractive two years ago when he was still trying to convince himself that all he wanted was to fuck a girl like this.

He smiled. "_Merci_, Quinn," Blaine murmured, leaning forwards and brushing her cheeks gently with his lips, pulling away and turning from her just slowly enough to see her cheeks flush even more and her eyes widen in surprise.

As he opened the door to the bathroom (wrinkling his nose at the smell), Blaine smirked. He shouldn't have, really – but honestly, he was in _Ohio_. It wasn't as if there were going to be any _boys _to flirt with, or at least any that wouldn't call him a – _fag_, was that the word? – and push him away in disgust.

Besides, most of the fun came from the reactions, girl or boy.

Blaine wasn't picky, really.

Still…_one whole year. Une année_. One whole year _des_ _filles_.

_Brilliant_.

* * *

><p>Kurt generally made a habit of frequenting the girls' toilets – while the air was full of deodorant and perfume that mixed and clogged up his throat till he almost couldn't breathe, it was certainly preferable to the…interesting…experience that was the guys' toilets.<p>

Today though, not wanting to run into any of the glee girls (because if the guys saw him crying, they'd just look away uncomfortably and he didn't want to answer any questions the girls would ask him), Kurt clenched his fists and held his breath, opening the door as quickly as possible.

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he looked up into the mirror over the sink, eyes still red (thought thankfully not puffy) as water dripped down his face.

"Go away, Azimio," Kurt said tiredly, turning just in time feel himself shoved backwards, rim of the sink jabbing painfully into his back.

"What're ya doing here, Hummel?" Azimio scoffed. "Think you're man enough to hang with the real guys, huh?"

He didn't bother resisting as Azimio pushed him backwards one more time; nor did he bother trying to stay upright as his legs collapsed beneath him.

Instead, he just sat there on the probably filthy floor, absorbing dirt into his new jeans that was probably going to take hours to remove when he got home.

The first tear had just fallen when he heard the light footsteps in front of him, and instinctively, Kurt flinched backwards as someone kneeled in front of him.

For a moment, there was silence, then…

"Are you alright?"

* * *

><p>Blaine waited in the cubicle (which, by the way, was absolutely <em>dégoûtant<em>) till the bathroom door slammed shut before making his way out, to see a boy – doubtless the _Hummel _that the _gros _bully was referring to – curled up on the ground.

For a moment, Blaine was tempted to simply leave; but as he stepped towards the door, he couldn't help but remember the times when he _was _that boy; when it was him, curled in a corner so no one could see him (or hurt him).

He sighed lightly, almost inaudibly, before crouching down, and seeing for the first time this Hummel's features.

Blaine took a moment to appreciate the fineness of the other boy's cheekbones; the pale flawlessness of the skin; the surprisingly long, fine lashes – longer than Blaine's, in fact.

"Are you alright?" he asked carefully, making sure that his accent was lightly American, the one he was planning on using here.

Hummel looked up quickly, eyes snapping open, and Blaine literally had to bite down on his tongue to stop from gasping aloud at the _colour _of those eyes.

"I'm fine," Hummel said quickly, raising his hands to his eyes – no doubt to dash the tears away.

"Stop," Blaine said quietly, and the slender hands stopped in mid-air.

Slowly, Blaine reached forwards, and with the back of his hand he gently brushed the droplets away from the other boy's cheeks. Then he pushed himself to his feet, wincing internally as his hand rested briefly against the edge of the sink for support, no doubt covering it with a million germs that he'd never have found in France.

The boy stayed on the floor as Blaine washed his hands quickly.

"Here," Blaine said when he was done, holding his hand out to Hummel. Those blue-green-silver eyes (Blaine couldn't decide quite which) widened, darting from Blaine's face to his hand, and back to his face, before the boy reached out his hand slowly, as if to touch some sort of poisonous snake, fingers wrapping tightly around Blaine's.

"Thank you," Hummel whispered as he stood.

Blaine shook his head, smiling gently. "Don't mention it," he replied. He stood there for a moment, feeling strangely uncomfortable as the other boy washed his hands slowly, before, mentally shaking his head, he turned away.

"Excuse me."

About to open the door, Blaine stopped. "_O_- yes?" he said quickly, berating himself for the slip as he turned back around.

"My name is Kurt," Hummel – _Kurt _– said, so softly Blaine thought he might be imagining the words. "And thank you again."

Blaine didn't reply; simply smiled as he left.

_Kurt_,_ eh? Interessant…_

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" Mercedes asked, as Kurt walked back to the girls. She sounded concerned (probably understandably), so Kurt made sure that his face was devoid of any of the pain he was feeling before he turned to flash a smile her way.<p>

"Same as always," he said with a shrug. "Itching to get out of Lima. Though if New York is this bad…well, I hear Australia's got nice weather."

"And half the world's population of deadly snakes," Tina interjected.

"No," Kurt corrected, "that's not true. You know why?"

Tina frowned. "Was that rhetorical?"

"The spiders ate all the snakes."

As they walked, the conversation drifted away from Australian flora and fauna – and, to Kurt's relief, from the fact that he was trying as hard as possible not to massage his left shoulder.

They split as the bell rang for first period, Kurt forcing a smile as he turned from Mercedes (who accompanied him as far as the end of the corridor before pleading late to Spanish) and, with only a smidgeon of his usual strut, walked into French alone.

It wasn't that he didn't like French – normally, Kurt treasured the one hour he had to insult Azimio in as many ways as possible (he'd trawled the internet for some of those swear words – but Azimio reminded him of Karofsky, who in turn reminded him of his aching shoulders and stinging palms.

With a sigh, Kurt slumped into the seat.

"_Salut, idiot. Je te demanderais si ça allait mais ça ne m'intèresse pas_," he said dully to Azimio, and even the look of thuggish confusion on the larger boy's face failed to inspire even the slightest bit of anything in him.

Ironically enough, it wasn't till after French – in AP English, actually – that Kurt heard about the new exchange student.

"Apparently he's _gorgeous_," Rachel gushed. Tina, Kurt's saviour from what would otherwise have been hours a week of trying as hard as possible to not ruin their best chance of making Nationals this year, rolled her eyes over Rachel's shoulder at Kurt.

For once, Kurt didn't return the look; instead, putting down his bag, he searched his brain frantically for any memory that might tell him just who this mysterious _he _was. They hadn't had any new enrolments lately (as far as Kurt was aware) and most of the even vaguely attractive guys in the school were somewhat deficient in the area of bearable personality.

"Yeah," Tina said, "and Quinn says he's got an accent to _die _for."

"Well, he's _French_. Which you must be pretty happy about, right Kurt?"

Now was as good a time as any to ask, Kurt supposed. "Err…who are we talking about?" he asked.

Tina and Rachel looked at him.

"…what?" he snapped a bit louder than he'd intended, and the girls flinched.

"Mr Hummel!" their Lit teacher said sharply. "You are in class!"

"Sorry," Kurt muttered, ducking his head , embarrassed despite himself.

"Well, what?" he asked them more softly.

"You haven't _heard_?"

"Obviously not," he muttered.

"There's a new exchange student from France," Tina said.

"He's just arrived – Quinn and Brittany saw him and his father going to Figgins' office," Rachel added.

"Brittany says she'd totally have sex on him, but then she says that about most people."

From _France_?

For a moment, Kurt almost smiled – he'd never travelled outside of America, but the internet was sufficient for him to realise just how much there was that he was missing out on.

_France_.

And then Kurt realised with a sickening sort of drop in his stomach that _France _didn't mean this new kid would be any different to Finn, or Puck, or any of the other guys who were nice to Kurt in a vague sort of way while somehow managing to insult and demean him with every second action.

There was nothing except a language barrier (which wasn't even going to matter with him) stopping this guy from being another Azimio.

_Or another Karofsky_. He shook off the thought.

"Kurt? Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You were shaking your head – is everything okay? Do you have a headache or something?"

Kurt bit his lip, for the slightest instant wondering if perhaps it might be better to talk to Tina – not Rachel, he knew very well that Rachel had this fascinating ability to make everyone think, like she did, that even the most minor thing was a big deal.

He was coping.

_It's going to be fine_. _It's going to be fine. It's going to be fine._

"Anyway," Rachel said loudly, her voice cutting through his internal chant. "How did spying go?"

Kurt frowned at the word – he'd preferred to think of what he had done as _scouting _– but he was secretly grateful at the change of topic. "Uneventful, and a failure," he admitted grudgingly. "I got there, walked around for a bit, gazed in admiration at the anachronism of computer labs and European architecture, got bored, drove back to Lima."

He didn't bother to mention that he'd been gently but firmly escorted out by two students (somehow a lot less impressive than the police) wearing blazers and polite smiles that nevertheless managed to convey a sense of prim disapproval.

"Darn!" Rachel exclaimed. "So you didn't hear them sing at _all_? When you missed a glee rehearsal? You should have come back earlier!"

_Yes, never mind that _I _was the one who missed the whole day._

"Not that it was fair that the guys made you go in the first place," Tina said softly, and Kurt smiled gratefully at her.

"Well-" Rachel began in her usual strident tones.

"Miss Berry! It would be nice if you could manage to go at least a minute without bothering your friends!"

Rachel opened her mouth to protest (probably loudly) but at that exact moment, the door opened, Miss Pillsbury sidling through the door with an ounce more confidence than Kurt remembered her having before she got together with that dentist guy.

The three glee club members looked towards her hopefully, but she only glanced nervously in their direction before scurrying over to hold a whispered conversation with their teacher.

"What do you think that's about?" Tina whispered. Kurt shrugged, turning the page of _Jane Eyre _with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

"Does it matter?" he muttered dully. Normally he would care – after all, _anything _that might make his life marginally more interesting was always welcome – but right now, he just…couldn't.

And not just now; Kurt could feel the weariness setting in, weariness not just with school and Lima but with glee club (especially after what happened with the other guys).

Sometimes even with _fashion_.

He didn't know what he was going to do if that spread to music as well.

"Kurt!"

Kurt started, looking up quickly at the sound of his name. It was Miss Pillsbury, gesticulating at him. Confused, he stood, turning slightly to shoot a look at Tina and Rachel – but the confusion on _their _faces was enough to show him that they had no idea of what was going on either.

"Um…yes?"

"Could you please come with me?"

"…Alright?"

* * *

><p>"Sorry, Miss Pillsbury, but <em>what is going on<em>?" Kurt finally asked, probably louder than he'd wanted to.

The guidance counsellor looked back at him as they walked to the principal's office, obviously surprised. "What do you mean?" she asked, already-large eyes growing even bigger.

"I me-"

"_Et Papa, malgré ce que tu dis, je suis absolument certain que je sois capable de faire ce qu'il faut pour – comment est-ce que tu le dis ? __'Survivre' ? Je te rassure, je-_"

"Principal Figgins, I've brought Kurt," Miss Pillsbury squeaked, and the three people standing in Mr Figgins' office looked towards them.

One of those faces was far too familiar – as nice as Figgins could be, Kurt couldn't fail to hate his inability to do _anything _about homophobia in the school.

The tall man in a suit standing beside the principal was unfamiliar.

But the boy standing opposite him, face flushed under dark skin with what was probably anger…

Kurt remembered that face.

"It's _you_," he whispered as the other boy's eyes widened in recognition.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

_Tu vas ou? _= Where are you going?

_Des filles _= of girls (probably a bit obvious but just in case)

_Salut, idiot. Je te demanderais si ça allait mais ça ne m'intèresse pas = _Hello, idiot. I'd ask you how you are but I don't really care.

_Et Papa, malgré ce que tu dis, je suis absolument certain que je sois capable de faire ce qu'il faut pour – comment est-ce que tu le dis ? __'Survivre' ? Je te rassure, je = _And father, despite what you say, I'm fairly sure I can - how do you say it? 'Survive'? I assure you, I-

(And we'll never know the rest...)

So whatcha think?


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